


The Second Tripwire

by Elfriend



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2018-02-27
Packaged: 2019-03-24 13:40:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13812330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elfriend/pseuds/Elfriend
Summary: Set in Season 13, Sam is attacked by Lucifer, and it will take Team Free Will 2.0 to save him. Trigger warning: suicide attempt





	The Second Tripwire

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be straight up Sam angst, primarily centered on Sam and Dean, but it never got quite as angsty as I thought it would. I mean, it's angsty, but I am capable of angst that is much, much, angstier. Then Jack decided to be more important and interesting than I expected. Things happened, and suddenly I find myself opening the door to a possible epic AU future story. Never fear, any cliffhanging is incidental. This tale is resolved herein.

The gun hit the concrete floor a few feet away and spun. Sam’s eyes followed it as if it was the only thing in the room - as if it was everything.

Dean grabbed his brother’s shirt and used it to leverage him up from where he half-sat, curled in on himself against the footboard of his bed. He tried to look him in the eye. Dean never knew where they stood, how bad a given situation was, until he could look Sam in the eye. Once he could establish that contact, he could usually find some clarity, and then he’d know where to start to make it right.

This, though. This was new and unstable terrain, and Dean didn’t know if he could make enough sense of it to find his footing no matter what he did. There was a rumbling in his ears like an avalanche was about to wipe him right off the damned map.

The last thing he was going to find in his brother’s eyes, was clarity.

Sam was trying to kill himself.

***

The security camera caught the black eyes right before the smiting.

“Definitely more angel kills, and at least one was a demon - but why have there been so many? Is it really all about fighting each other to get to Jack, first?” Sam swung the laptop around so Dean and Cas could see for themselves.

“Everyone wants the kid,” Dean picked up his glass, found it empty and set it down again with a decisive thunk.

“Heaven is desperate, and Hell is...Hell,” Cas shrugged his agreement.

“They don’t know I’m here, though,” Jack mumbled, his words muffled by peanut butter and jelly. He’d been extra hungry since he got back, and he was in the process of inhaling his third sandwich along with at least half of a family sized bag of Doritos and literally all the milk in the bunker. Dean was currently riding a week-long Lucky Charms binge, so there was a lot of milk.

Dean wasn’t going to be happy when he realized there wasn’t any left.

His brother was retrieving a decanter of Scotch from the bar. He’d fully adopted all the little luxuries left behind by the Men of Letters. Dean was adaptable, Sam had to give him that. He’d been fine in crappy motels, hell, he’d been fine in prison, but he loved his batcave. From claiming his dead-guy robe, and the cut crystal decanters for his booze, to delighting in his very own memory foam mattress, purchased especially for his very own room, this was a real home to Dean.

Sam could never think of it as anything but a bunker, a temporary shelter. It was just like everywhere else, albeit a little safer, (except when it wasn’t), and conveniently stocked with reference materials.

That, and some truly inspiring water pressure.

Sam absently lifted the first two fingers of his right hand maybe an inch off the table as Dean tilted the bottle marginally toward him - an offer and a polite refusal, silent, subtle, and as automatic as breathing.

“Bold to have a confrontation at the courthouse in broad daylight,” he said, nodding toward the monitor. “They had to know there was security.”

“Why would they care about that?” Castiel asked rhetorically. “There was nobody left alive at the scene, and the survivors were long gone. Probably.”

“Is anyone else concerned that this was in Kansas?” Dean had slouched back into his seat with a generous amount of Scotch at his elbow. “How far?”

“Three hours drive from here, maybe. Two, if you’re driving.”

“Of course I’m driving.”

“Right,” Sam acknowledged with a twitch of a smile, “but I’m saying it’s in the ballpark. The last smitings were in Missouri, they are getting closer. Ketch could have given up the bunker, and if he hasn’t yet, he still could at any time.”

“If he thought it was in his interests,” Dean agreed. “Yeah.”

“But they don’t know I’m here,” Jack managed to repeat around a truly astonishing number of Doritos. “They think you lost me.”

Cas’s forehead creased in anxiety, “We did lose you, Jack.”

“But then you found me, again,” the kid said brightly. At that point he became aware that his fingers had turned orange, waggling them at Sam with an expression that wavered dizzyingly between sardonic self-awareness, and pure joyful exuberance.

Sam saw a brief smile soften Cas’s worried expression for a moment, but just for a moment. “There’s no place we can go that is safer than here,” Cas fretted. “ If we assume the bunker is compromised and try to find a safer place, Jack will only be more exposed.”

There was no arguing that logic, so none of them bothered.

“So, we’re checking this out?” Dean got up, not waiting for a response. He cast a morose little grimace toward his untouched Scotch, then ducked out to retrieve his go bag.

Sam set more warding, grabbed his own gear, and joined his brother in the garage. As he slid into the passenger side, Dean turned Baby over, and chose Metallica in place of conversation, for the moment at least, and they were on their way. Jack, with Cas and inside the bunker, was as safe as it was possible to be with all of Heaven, Hell, and the devil himself, determined to get their hands on him - which was not very, but better than no protection at all.

Headphones and a podcast were Sam’s choice for the road, but his mind had other priorities and he gave up trying to focus on anything else. Why were the angels winning? They were vastly outnumbered, and lacking leadership, while Asmodeus was giving every appearance of being a strong and determined leader.

Sam had a bad feeling he couldn’t shake, and he couldn’t tell anymore if it was hunter’s instincts, or if somehow, as it always seemed to, it all came back to Lucifer.

***

Sam had turned off whatever geeky educational thing he’d been listening to, but he’d left his earphones in, and was staring out Baby’s passenger window, chewing at his lip. This was a combination of things that made Dean feel like he had an itch in the dead center of his back, where there was no way in hell he was ever going to reach it.

He shifted uncomfortably as if there really was an itch, then he abruptly turned down the music.

“Sam?”

Nothing.

Leaning over slightly, he got hold of the earphone cord and yanked them out of his brother’s ears. Sam jumped. “Wha...”

“Sammy?” he said calmly, as if he hadn’t just startled the crap out of his brother.

Sam scowled, “What?”

“You want to share what’s going on in the crazy brain?”

Sam shook his head, no, but then he spoke anyway, “I don’t know, I guess I just keep thinking...”

Dean nodded, “Why aren’t the demons kicking the angel’s asses?”

“Exactly.”

Sam paused for a long time, but there was something else in there that was working its way out. Dean knew when to push, when to wait, and when to fold and move on. He waited.

The silence stretched, and Sam scrubbed at his face. Whatever it was, Sam didn’t like it, which meant Dean really, really wasn’t going to like it, but finally Sam said, “We don’t know where he went, Dean.”

_Lucifer_

“I know,” Dean acknowledged. “You think he’s mixed up in this thing somehow?”

“I don’t...” Sam shook his head, “I mean, yes, of course, he wants Jack, so he’s somewhere in all this...it’s just...something is off, that I can’t...and with him out there, we don’t know what...or, or, or, when...”

Dean nodded again. That was all he was going to get, but he had what he needed. “We’re going in there hot, ok? Like the whole damned town is full of tripwires, you got me?"

Sam was staring out the window again.

“You got me, Sam?”

“Yeah...tripwires, got it.”

***

It was a smallish town, eerily still, and bitterly cold. Sam figured the weather was keeping people off the streets, but in combination with his sense of impending dread, it all took on a surreal, ominous feeling. Something about it reminded him of Cold Oak. Maybe it was the little memorial in the small town square. It wasn’t a bell, but...

Sam shivered, he hadn’t thought about that place in, well, a very long time.

They’d come in as FBI, the usual, and the locals were more than happy to let them investigate without a chaperone, if it meant they got to stay inside and warm. It really was unusually cold for Kansas in early March, a good twenty degrees below the normal low, his weather app confirmed. So did his nose, that threatened to freeze shut every time he inhaled. It might as well have been Canada.

Dean was quiet as they walked to the crime scene, his breath misting, hands tucked in his overcoat pockets. True to his word, he was on hyper-alert, but Sam could feel his brother’s eyes on him pretty often, too, silently assessing. How could something be both comforting, and annoying as all hell?

Damn it! He wasn’t about to break apart, or anything. Except he occasionally felt like he might break apart, so... _Damn it._

The courthouse steps were festooned with bright police tape, as was the interior lobby, a grand affair with columns and a high dome. Some small towns took their municipal buildings very seriously. It was pretty impressive, he had to admit, and gave one the proper feeling of respect for the concept of the law, something he could appreciate, usually, but not today. It was barely warmer inside than out.

If it weren’t for the blackened wings, (one, two, three pairs), there was little to indicate there had been a massacre here. Just a few scorch marks. Angels are pretty tidy when they smite.

He turned to check in with Dean and was shocked to see Anael standing calmly in the open entrance.

“Dean!” he warned, and grabbed the angel blade from inside his coat. His brother looked up, but instead of his eyes following where Sam was pointing, he was staring beyond Sam at something else. Something that pissed him off, which meant, of course, that Dean was afraid.

Sam felt the hairs on the back of his neck stir as Dean reached for his own blade, and stuttered out a return warning, “S-Sam!”

The voice was as calm and congenial as if it was just any casual, unexpected meetup with a couple of good pals, “Oh, hey guys!”

Then Dean was airborne, hitting hard maybe ten or twelve feet up one of the columns. So hard that big chunks of plaster fell with him to the floor.

Gripping his useless blade, Sam turned to face Lucifer.

***

Dean had learned a long time ago to isolate the pain, to not pass out, or get distracted when he needed to be alert. They both did, and it had kept them alive, but he couldn’t control the messed up vision, or the confusion of a recently concussed skull. Pushing up with his arms he looked for Sam and watched blurrily as Lucifer touched two fingers to his brother’s forehead.

The angel blade Sam held clattered to the floor, forgotten, and Lucifer leaned in close, like he was whispering something in Sam’s ear.

Dean tried and failed to rise, then tried again, and Lucifer turned to meet his eyes with a lazy wink, a knowing grin, then Anael was at his side and they were both gone.

The moment Lucifer’s fingers disappeared from Sam’s head, his brother thumped to his knees, and then crumpled completely.

Half scrambling, half stumbling, Dean reached Sam’s side, and seeing how pale and still he was, frantically hunted for a reassuring pulse. He found it, but Dean’s stomach churned. Sam’s skin was ice cold, his lips tinged bluish. Shrugging off his jacket and overcoat he laid both over his stricken brother, then he shook Sam’s shoulders, called his name, and prayed to Chuck, (damn him), for help.

It was only moments, but they were some long friggin' moments before Sam’s eyelids fluttered and his breathing deepened. “Hey, hey there Sammy, you with me?”

For a moment Sam looked through him as if he was seeing something else, something terrifying, but then he focused his eyes on Dean’s face and said, “Hey...yeah.”

Dean blew the breath he’d been holding out on a huff and smiled. “Good, that’s good.” Then he frowned as Sam tried to get up. “Whoa, hold up there for a sec, take it easy.”

“What? So I can lie here and freeze in this mausoleum?” Sam pushed himself up, noticing the extra coats. It was a measure of how not-ok he actually was that he didn’t hand them straight back, but he managed to sit. “We’re on a case, Dean.” It almost came out clean with no chattering, but not quite.

“What case? This isn’t a case, this is a battle in a god-damned war,” Dean ran a hand through his hair and looked around as if seeing the battle happening before his eyes, “and I think we both know why the angels are winning,” that got a small nod from Sam, “But why are they trusting him?”

“Maybe they think he can give them Jack.” Sam finally pushed the extra coats into Dean’s hands and looked him in the eye. “Maybe he can.”

“We need to re-group, talk to Cas, figure out a strategy,” Dean said, as they somehow both managed to get to their feat. Sam’s expression was so clear, he might have spoken the words aloud, _what strategy? We’re boned._

 _Epically,_ Cas would say, and Cas would be right. They were both right.

“I guess we found your tripwire,” Sam finally said as they made their way back to the car.

“Could have been worse,” Dean replied.

Sam’s “yeah,” was unconvincing, and Dean heard his father’s voice in his head, “It’s not the first trip wire that will get you, son, it’s the second every time, because you’ve let down your guard.”

***

Sam couldn’t get warm. He tried to minimize the shaking, but Dean must have noticed. He made no comment, he just left the heat blasting, even though he was visibly sweating by the time they got back to the bunker.

Dean offered to fill in Cas and Jack, with an implied offer to let Sam go do something else, and he took him up on it. Soon he was in the shower, under nearly scalding water, with the intention of staying there for as long as it took to feel warm again.

That was the first time it happened.

He closed his eyes to let the water run over his face, and when he opened them again the shower room was gone, the bunker was gone, and he was _there._ He could see it, feel it, smell it.

His knees hit the rough stone floor, and the jolt was enough to jar his vision back to the smooth tiled shower, back to the bunker, with a vertigo inducing lurch. He didn’t get up. He couldn’t. He just knelt there, the hot spray pummeling him, waiting to stop shaking.

The Cage. It had been real. Completely, horribly, real.

When he finally emerged, Dean was no longer moving like a man who had been thrown around a room. Cas had apparently healed him. Their friend looked up as he entered the library, and stood to meet him, two fingers raised toward his head, awaiting his nod of permission.

It shouldn’t have taken courage to let him do it, but it did.

Cas’s small frown when he was done was more troubling than the fact that Sam didn’t feel any different. “I don’t sense anything that requires healing,” Cas said, but it sounded like a question, because Sam wasn’t right, and Cas could tell he wasn’t right.

“Thanks, Cas,” he responded, as he took a seat at the table.

They all resumed their ongoing conversation after that, discussing options, trying to find a way to ensure Jack’s safety from everyone who wanted to use or harm him, trying to think of a way to rid the world of Lucifer, again, but it was all just more of the same, around and around. The story of their lives, lately. There was nothing more they could do, nowhere left for them to go, and Rowena was right, anyway, Lucifer would always be back.

Sam stood up, and walked out without a word. They let him go, but he could almost hear the exchange of worried glances behind him.

He practically fell onto his bed, but the moment he closed his eyes, Sam dreamt of the Cage. It was so real, he was barely surprised, when he woke, to see that he’d dreamed like a dreamwalker, and his body bore the marks to prove it. Like Kaia, the young woman who never had a chance. Kaia, the dreamwalker who had helped them against her will, who saved them, twice, and died for her trouble.

He could recite them, if he wanted to, all the people who were dead because of him, sometimes by name, sometimes just a description. He had done it many, many, times. It took a while, a long while. Kaia was just among the newest names.

It never occurred to Sam to believe he had developed some new talent, the obvious answer was always most likely, it was Occam’s Razor: Lucifer was telling the truth.

“Are you ready to admit this has all been an illusion, Sam? Are you ready to acknowledge you’ve been here, with me, this whole time? We’ve been together for a thousand years, roomie, don’t you think it’s time for a new game?”

That’s what Lucifer whispered into Sam’s ear, while he plunged into Sam’s thoughts with the ice-cold touch of his mind.

It wasn’t as if he hadn’t had moments, from time to time, over the years, when he’d wondered. Coming back soulless? Dean in Purgatory with a vampire named Benny? A woman, a dog, and a life that might have been a dream? Bobby, Kevin, Charlie? God with a sister? Crowley with a mother? Lucifer with a son? Samuel and Mom back from the dead? Dean back from the dead, but as a demon? Castiel as God? Chuck as God? Castiel as Lucifer? Lucifer as the President? Doorways to other worlds? It all stretched credulity. It made so much more sense if it wasn’t true.

But it needed to be true. He needed to make it true, and Dean was brick one, always. _Dean is real, therefore the bunker is real, therefore Cas and Jack are real, therefore..._

Sam dug into the palm of his left hand with his right thumb. The clock told him it had only been about an hour since he lay down, but he’d been tortured for far longer, and he had the welts to prove it. Sleeping was obviously out of the question, so he pulled on a t-shirt and a flannel shirt to hide the marks, then headed to the kitchen to make some very, very, strong coffee.

Jack was there, holding up an egg, and looking back and forth from it to the stove. He’d managed to eat everything that didn’t need cooking, and apparently he was thinking about cooking, now.

Sam had seen him do this before. Jack appeared to have an eidetic memory, he was accessing his memories of other people cooking eggs, so he could cook some for himself.

“Jack, I can do that if you want?”

“No, I think I’ve got it...but I’ll have to fry them, there’s no milk, and scrambled eggs come out better with a little milk...”

Sam acknowledged that piece of wisdom with a nod, but as his head made the move, the Cage overlayed itself, instantly and completely, over the kitchen like a malignant ooze. He could still see Jack, but through a haze of red. He clung to the edge of the counter and fought down the vomit.

“Sam, what’s wrong?” Jack asked worriedly.

“I’m...” Sam gulped in air and crushed his thumb into his palm. “I’m good, I’m fine, Jack.” Slowly, very slowly, the bunker came into focus, but it seemed, out of the corner of his eye, he could almost still see the Cage - lurking, threatening, waiting.

“I’m fine, now.”

***

Dean stood in the kitchen entry for a beat longer, as he wrestled with his conflicting options. After seeing what he just saw, his first impulse was to punch Sam in the face for not saying anything. His second was to ask _all_ the questions. He chose option three and walked away, so that he could maybe follow option two later, with a prayer of not defaulting to option one.

Damn John and his second trip wire, anyway!

He just...he needed a minute. He started for his room, then changed his mind mid-stride, and redirected toward the garage instead, and that is how he almost ran Cas down.

“Dean?” He kept going as if his friend wasn’t there, hoping Cas would let him. No such luck.

“What has happened?” Cas matched him stride for stride. “Something has happened.”

Dean stopped dead, forcing Cas to pivot in order to face him. He tried not to let Cas see his eyes, but who was he kidding? This was Cas. He either couldn’t, or stubbornly wouldn’t, understand personal boundaries. Cas placed the palms of his hands flat on either side of Dean’s face and moved it where he wanted it. When he’d seen what he was looking for, he dropped his hands and took a small step back. Too small, he was still in Dean’s space, but better.

“Something is not right with Sam.” Cas stated, no question in his voice at all. “I couldn’t find anything to heal, Dean, he should be fine, but he isn’t, is he?”

“Lucifer did something to him, Cas, he cracked his damned gourd again. We’ve all seen how this movie ends, and it ain’t good.”

Dean gave up the idea of flight, in that moment, he had to face this right now. He gave Cas’s arm a light squeeze. Gratitude. Then he went back to the kitchen.

Cas followed.

The domestic little scene was perfectly normal, now. Jack frying eggs, Sam making coffee.

“Dean! Castiel! Would you like some eggs?” Jack asked, unabashed pride in his voice.

Dean couldn’t help but appreciate the kid’s enthusiasm. “Nice going there Mario Batali, but no thanks.” Cas mumbled something about molecules and digestion.

Sam gestured to his mug, Dean tilted his head accepting the offer. Cas rolled his eyes and sat down.

Soon they all joined him, Jack with his eggs and a prodigious pile of buttered toast, Sam and Dean sipping at their coffee, just like this was a totally normal middle-of-the-damned-night at the bunker.

Dean snagged a piece of toast from Jack and took a generous bite, around which he said,“So, what the hell, Sammy?”

Sam nodded slowly, acknowledging Dean’s right to know, but he said, “I don’t know. I wish I knew, but I don’t. He did something to me, Dean, and the Cage is leaking through.”

“You mean like memories? Hallucinations? What?”

“I think...I think it’s the Cage...the real Cage.”

“What does that even mean? I mean, no, that isn’t...it’s impossible,” Dean shook his head, “just...no. It’s like before, hallucinations, it’s got to be.”

Sam stood slowly, closed his eyes, took a ragged deep breath, and raised his shirts to show his abdomen, criss-crossed with ugly welts. Dean frowned, and Cas didn’t even ask, he reached up and healed them. Healing worked this time, so, real. Real welts, real torture, in the real Cage? Not even possible. No.

Sam took another deep breath, this one easier. “Thanks, Cas,” he said softly, then, “I’m just going to...I need to just,” and Sam walked out.

They all heard the thud when he fell.

***

One step into the hallway and the ooze was covering everything again. He practically mangled his own hand trying to get it to go away, but it wouldn't. Instead, it got thicker and the bunker started to go. He saw the shadowed outlines of his family, and that is how he realized he was lying down, but he couldn’t even tell who was who.

“You’re fading,” Terror filled his throat, “No, no, no, no, no...I can’t...” but they were gone, and it was just the Cage, and the screaming.

He fought it. He built a picture of Dean’s face in his mind, and he willed it to be real. It was starting to seem unlikely. It was starting to be more believable that the last time he saw Dean was at Stull’s Cemetery, so he built that face, younger, bloodied, brazen, insisting, “I’m here, I won’t leave you.” He built that face and he poured everything into it, his pain, his terror, his longing, the strength of his will, every bit of his trust, and all his love for his brother. He held that image in his mind with every shred of strength he had, and, it began to change. It healed, it aged, and it was stronger than the Cage, the Cage was fading, and the face was speaking, “Sammy, come on, look at me, I’m right here. I’m right here, you hear me, bro?”

“Yeah...” The room became clearer, he was in his own bed, Dean, Cas, and Jack, were all there. “Hey, Auntie Em.”

Dean let out a weak laugh, and a long breath. Then he pulled Sam up by his shirt and hugged him roughly. “You scared the crap out of me, don’t do that!”

“Got it.” Sam shook himself and tried to clear his vision, further, but a miasma of red continued to stain everything, everywhere he looked.

“What happened?”

“What happened? You fell down and went catatonic, that’s what happened! You’ve been staring freakily into space for half an hour!” Dean’s voice sounded angry, which meant...

“I’m sorry I scared you.”

“You know what? screw sorry, screw you, and screw the damned devil.” Dean hugged him again.

Jack said, “So, is that it, is it over? Did you win?”

Sam didn’t answer, and that was the answer.

***

So, they talked about it, and looked up lore until they were crosseyed, and then talked about it, more, until Dean was about ready to go out and try to kill Lucifer with no idea where he was, no plan at all, no weapon that would work, and no hope of succeeding, just to be doing something.

Sam was struggling. He was exhausted, and getting more so. It was a constant fight. His hand was bloodied from the abuse he was giving it, trying to use the pain to anchor to reality, and he couldn’t get warm no matter what they did.

Jack offered to use his power to show Dean what was happening in Sam’s mind, in the hope that knowing might offer a way to help him, but Sam refused. It was for the best, nobody knew what might happen if Jack tried to use his powers in this situation, but Dean knew Sam refused because he didn’t want Dean to know how bad it was.

_Damn it!_

“Sam, you’re exhausted,” Cas said, “maybe you should sleep.”

“I can’t Cas, it’s right here, its all around, sleep would give it an opening.”

And that sounded nothing like Sam, and everything like a crazy person! Dean assessed his brother yet again, huddled in an electric blanket, skin sallow, glassy eyed, with dark bruise-like circles under his eyes, he barely even looked like himself. Sam stood, a bit unsteadily, and dropped the blanket in the chair.

“Hold up, where do you think you’re going?”

“I have to use the bathroom, Dean. Do I need a hall pass?” Ok, that sounded more like Sam.

Cas was suggesting that maybe they should call Rowena. They’d discussed and discarded that option at least two or three times last night, already. Jack seemed intrigued by the idea of a powerful witch, which was a little disconcerting, to be honest, and Cas argued that Rowena knew more about the Cage than even Lucifer probably did. Sam had argued against calling her each time, and Dean wondered if he was trying to protect her, too. He was protecting all of them.

He was scrubbing hard at his face, trying to revive his tired mind when it occurred to Dean that Sam had been gone too long. He didn’t want to alarm the others, so he went alone, without comment.

Sam wasn’t in the bathroom, and his bedroom was locked. None of them locked their doors, there was no need. They’d lived in each other’s pockets so long, just having a door to close was a luxury. None of them would open a closed door without knocking on a normal day, that Sam would lock his door now, did not bode well.

Dean rapped on the heavy door, “Sammy, open up!”

“Sam!”

***

He was almost out of time, the fight was over. Lucifer had already won, it was just a matter of how and when Sam succumbed. If he didn’t act quickly, the limited choices he had left would be taken out of his hands.

His vision blurred and swam between the Cage and the bunker, so Sam was plagued by vertigo, and he had wasted too much time retching helplessly into the wastebasket. There was nothing left to come up but bile and a little coffee, but the reflexive attempt his body was making to offload anything that might be poisoning it went through, _all_ the motions.

When it finally let up, Sam knew his time was almost up. Dean would be coming.

“Billie...?” Sam’s voice sounded hoarse and ragged, so he tried again, “Billie?...um, Death?” “If you’re listening...I hope you’re listening, I need you to keep your promise and send me to the Empty, or, or, or, just, where he can’t reach me. I’m not strong enough to choose the Cage again. I’m not strong enough.” Sam took a breath and waited.

Silence.

If Billie was here, she wasn’t going to make it easy for him by showing herself, and he couldn’t really blame her for that.

Dean knocked, “Sammy, open up!”

“Sam!”

Dean wasn’t going to knock again, he’d kick the door in, or, failing that, shoot the lock, or blow the damned thing up.

It was now or never. Sam put the gun in his mouth and tried to aim it in a way that was sure to do the job before Cas could get to him.

Dean was throwing all his weight into taking down the door. It was a pretty stout door, but Dean was determined, and it cracked near the locking mechanism almost immediately.

Sam squeezed his eyes shut and called silently for Billie, then the gun was gone, flying across the room where it skidded and spun.

He’d taken too long.

“Sammy, what the hell?”

Sam couldn’t answer. The cage was pouring in, oozing through all the cracks in his armor, making everything too slick to hang on to. He fought. Of course he fought, he never stopped fighting, but he’d lost the moment Lucifer touched him. Dean’s face was fading, and he struggled to find his voice.

“Dean, help me...Billie...the Empty.” Sam’s back arched, his muscles convulsed. “Please, Dean!”

Then it was only the Cage, and his mind was too fragmented to make a picture of Dean, it was over.

***

“It’s a coma,” Cas said after assessing the situation.

“He asked me to help him, Cas,” Dean wasn’t even trying to hide his emotions, tears were running freely, and he was shaking, “Do you want to know how many times Sam has asked me for help? Try, never. But I...I didn’t know how to help him.”

“You said he was talking about Billie, and the Empty,” Cas said, “You know exactly how he wanted you to help him.”

Dean winced and buried his face in his hands, and from there he said, “So, what if I...what if I helped him, now?”

“We have no way of knowing, Dean. It may be that now it’s too late, because he seems to be, for all intents and purposes, in the Cage.”

“Did I condemn him to the Cage?” Dean looked up, “Is that what I did, here, Cas? Did I send my brother back to the damned Cage?”

“I don’t know,” Cas said forlornly, then, “Jack! What are you doing?”

While they had been talking Jack kept a vigil beside Sam’s still form, and now, yellow eyes strobing, he was touching Sam’s temple with bright crackling energy. In a moment, it was done.

“It’s a lock,” he said.

“What?” Dean asked.

“I’m sorry, it just suddenly seemed right to look, and so I did.” Jack explained. “His mind is locked in the Cage, like he was locked in the room. I can see the ‘mechanism’ of the lock, but I don’t think I can break it. It’s very strong.”

Then Jack looked up and smiled, “But you broke the door around the lock, and then the lock didn’t work!” Jack reached for Sam’s temple again, but Dean caught his arm.

“Hey, whoa, slow down there, Sonic, you said the lock was on his mind,” Dean shook his head, “Nobody is going to break Sam’s mind!”

The silent, “again” hung in the air. Cas and Dean locked eyes, then simultaneously looked away.

Jack didn’t notice, he was thinking very fast. “No, but see, that’s not right,” Jack shook his head, “The lock isn’t on his mind, it’s on the Cage around his mind. I can break the Cage.”

“Safely, Jack?” Cas asked.

“I think so,” Jack thought for a moment, “Yes, safe for Sam, yes.”

“What does that...” Cas began, but Dean interrupted him, “Do it!”

Jack touched Sam’s temple again, eyes flashing to gold, and the energy crackled all around Sam’s head. “Jack, are you sure this...” Cas tried again, but then there was a resounding clang that shook the bunker like an earthquake, and both Jack and Cas were stricken by the intensity of angel radio suddenly screaming in their heads.

When it subsided, Dean said, “What the hell just happened!?”

“Ummm, Jack, did you just break the actual Cage?” Cas asked plaintively.

“I think maybe...yes?”

***

Sam stirred, then, and Jack’s attention was all on his friend. Dean’s too, he was talking very softly, softly for Dean, anyway, but very intense, almost like the way Jack’s mother talked to him in the video she'd left for him.

“Sam, hey, Sammy wake up.”

Then Sam said something a little frightening. He said, “You’re not real.”

Jack expected Dean to get angry. Frightening things made him angry sometimes, but Dean didn’t. He lifted Sam’s right hand and locked it with his like they were going to arm wrestle, then he gripped their joined hands with his free hand, and said, “Yes, I am. I am real, Sammy. We’re both here together in the bunker, I’m real, and that is brick one. We start there, and we build everything else. We start there, right, Sam?”

“Yeah.”

Dean kept their right hands clasped and helped Sam sit up, and Sam gathered a handful of Dean’s shirt in his fist. Dean looked significantly at Cas, who took Jacks arm and guided him out of the room, closing the ruined door as much as possible behind them.

He didn’t stop there, Cas continued to steer Jack further down the hall toward the library, but when Jack heard Sam’s first raw, broken, sob, he stopped and turned back.

Cas, put an arm out to stop him, “No, Jack, he’s ok, now, he just needs some time with just Dean.”

“I thought I helped him, Castiel!”

“You did help him, Jack, you saved him, but sometimes pain, terror, trauma like that? Sometimes humans like Sam and Dean, and like you, have to let those feelings out in order to feel better,”

Cas looked off in the direction of Sam’s room, “What Sam faced in there, inside his mind, was worse than any human should ever face. Sam Winchester may be the strongest man you will ever meet, Jack.”

Jack nodded, “I know.”

***

Billie, turned her back on the bunker. Sam wasn’t done yet, despite whatever Lucifer thought he had the authority to do.

Jack had taken her whispered suggestion as his own, and run from there. He was young, but he was strong and clever. Perhaps he really could restore balance in the multiverse. He’d better, because there was no-one who could stop him if he chose to make it worse.

The Cage was a problem, but it was a problem for the Winchesters. It seemed the cosmic vortices were aligned in such a way that those two would be thrust back into the thick of it in spite of Death or anything else trying to spit them out.

If she wasn’t careful, she might just start to have compassion for them.

***

Heaven shuddered, Earth shook, Hell convulsed, and a crack In the dark of the Cage, a crack made by the birth of a nephilim, grew wider. Wide enough to be more than a fissure through which the occasional twisted malignant thought might wriggle. Wide enough to break the bonds of the first archangel, and what little remained of his abused human vessel.

With a flutter of wings, they took flight for the first time in a thousand years, and their wrath, should anyone have been there to witness it, would have been enough to incinerate any angel, demon, mortal, of monster who dared to look upon them.


End file.
